Born of a Navajo healer and a high-level prince of Hell, Fatal is forced to return to her mother’s tribe to study their healing arts, away from demon hands. But, with her tutelage comes cruel segregation and disrespect. When her life suddenly comes under demon attack, she’s cast away from the only home she knows. Exiled, Fatal sets out armed with her knowledge and fighting skills to annihilate any threat against her.
Oracle by birth, Prince Orobus rules as his Liege commands, until intel comes his way providing him with images of his mate’s participation at a seedy club, well known for it’s sexual domination fight pit. Incensed, he’s thrust in the fight of his life—to claim his woman. Come Hell or high water, he will take care of what is rightfully his, even if it means making her face both sides of her heritage and teaching her there is no shame.
With a sense of ease, Fatal ambled down the darkened streets, gaining blatant glances as well as a few admiring stares.
“Hey sexy.” An unkempt male with brown crooked teeth and greasy hair grabbed his crotch and wiggled his tongue at her as she passed.
A shudder went through her as she steered clear of him. Once she’d hit puberty, the males she grew up with treated her different. In privacy, they’d single her out, pretending to want a friendship, only to say they fucked the freak, as if she couldn’t hear their hurtful words. The females her age acted far crueler than their counterparts. Bad omens had few friends, no dates or boyfriends. People in her hometown hadn’t hesitated to ask her for advice or to chant with them when it suited their needs. She lived in solitude, with the exception of occasional visits from her grandfather, Sani, and Taima, her mentor. Pushing her musings aside, she moved through an alleyway that broke off to the next major street.
The darkness encroached without as much as a whisper of sound. No telltale wind blowing discarded trash along the road, horns honking, or the zoom of cars passing by. Silence surrounded her, unsettling in such a night-busy town. She turned to head south when the flash of bright red color caught her eye. Intrigued, she meandered down a side street, arriving at a demonic-looking, gargoyle-protected granite structure. An eerie crimson-red sign hung above thick vault doors with the words “Demonic Persuasion” in black paint. She’d heard of the club. It catered to just about anyone’s needs.
Fatal stepped into the female line. An eon later, she reached the entrance of the club, flashing a smile at the doorman. When he didn’t move or speak, she shifted on her heels and pursed her lips.
“The fee’s ten bucks.”
Fatal dug in her boot, her gaze straying to the bunched biceps peaking out of his black T-shirt then roving over his cut physique. Her mouth watered, and her girly parts tingled. She played off his affect on her. Slapping the cash into his hand, she smiled. “Happy now?”
“I’ll be when you check your weapons, if it's even possible for you to have anything hidden underneath that getup.” His gaze swept over her black corset and micro-miniskirt, lingering a little too long on where she'd cinched up her cleavage.
“Oh, you’d be surprised what one can hide against near-naked skin. My name’s Ackchetta, most call me Fatal.” Smirking, she hiked up her skirt. Buried between her thighs were two small blades. Thin metal stars she'd concealed on her hipbones slid into her palms without effort. Annoyed, she dropped them in his outstretched hand. “There you go. I want them returned, though.”
“The one behind your back, too, sweet stuff.”
What, did he have X-ray vision? His droll expression did nothing to alleviate the naked discomfort without her weaponry. “Aren't you going to be polite and tell me your name?”
When he spun her around and tapped the slender weapon, her hackles rose.
“No one said you could touch.” Letting out a growl, she removed the extra-slim blade hidden under her corset top.
“My club, my rules. No fighting, no weapons, and no magic—if you know any.”
“I think I can behave myself for a few hours.”
He sent a dazzling smile her way then turned to a young woman. Dropping her weapons into an outstretched hand, he whispered into the sleek brunette woman’s ear.
Fatal narrowed her eyes. “It’s rude to whisper.”
“Follow Marzena. She’ll take you to the weaponry hold and issue you a ticket.”
“I still didn’t catch your name.”
Rude and hot. About to turn away, her breath hitched when the shimmering tattoos sprang to life on his skin. From head-to-toe, he stole her breath. Long black hair touched his shoulders. When he smiled, his blue eyes sparkled. Thick muscles bunched with every movement. Long legs and muscular thighs encased in black trousers brought a silent moan of want to her lips. She’d never ached like this. She stole a look at his goatee, wondering how it’d feel scraping across her face, his breath on her mouth before he kissed her with the same intensity he stared at her with. She’d sell her soul to have those lips on hers, to touch his once-broken, too-many-times-healed, nose.
While they were walking, Fatal glanced over her shoulder to continue drinking in the handsome man.
Marzena stopped at the station for weapons, secured them, and wrote out a ticket.
“Here.” She handed the paper to Fatal. “When you’re done eye-f*ing my boss, I’ll show you around the club.”
About the Author:
Being smart and sassy with a great sense of humor comes easily for Mahalia Levey. An avid reader of books, she found herself enchanted with disappearing completely into the worlds authors created. One day she vowed to herself she’d be one of them. Then family life came, and college right after. Swayed from her childhood course of action, it took many years for her to get back to that place she held dear as a child. Now she is running full steam ahead to keep up with the many ideas flowing freely. She plans on taking her work to higher levels and expanding her genres. Her main focus is giving her readers variety. Her works in progress include paranormal, fantasy and mainstream romance. Taking characters and watching them grow past what she’s imagined is her true passion.